A Warrior's Lamentation
by Lorien Urbani
Summary: Loki has fallen and Asgard mourns, but the Lady Sif is determined not to grieve for the Trickster.
1. I

**A/N: **Although this is a sequel to _Betweeen Two Points_, it is not necessary to read the first installment in order to follow this particular story, which is written as a stand-alone story. But it wouldn't hurt to read _Between Two Points_, right? (shameless advertising) At the end of this chapter, there is a more extensive Author's Note with some explanations and such. Enjoy!

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**A Warrior's Lamentation**

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_A young woman must always be_

_stern, hard-of-heart, unmoved, full of belief,_

_opposing breast-cares and her heartaches' legions._

_She must appear cheerful _

_even in a tumult of grief._

('The Wife's Lament', from _The Exeter Book_)

**xxx**

**I.  
**

Only moments before Loki fell into the starless void, Sif pierced the cold heart of a Frost Giant with her sword.

Alongside the Warriors Three and a score of other Asgardian warriors, she was fighting the few jötunns that had dared to show their faces in the city of the gods with the intention of felling it to its knees.

The blue-skinned monsters failed in their unholy quest, for they were easily defeated and Sif herself only suffered a deep laceration slithering from her elbow to the wrist. She had experienced worse injuries and what hurt more than the bleeding wound was the rage at the thought that Asgard had been attacked by its greatest foe, invited inside its golden walls by a traitorous, green-eyed Æsir,a shame to his own race, which made her gnash her teeth and bear them in anger every time she swung her sword.

As Sif thrust the blade into the frosty chest of her last opponent still standing, the force of her rage, and the hard ice not yet melting off the blue monster's skin in the heat of the battle, made it crack at the hilt. Sif swallowed, for that sword had been the last of the weapons she had had on her person before the battle began, but mercifully, the blade managed to do enough damage. Before it broke, it penetrated hard skin and flesh successfully, and the jötunn swayed, then fell, dead.

Sif eyed the huge body and charmed a pleased smile to her face, then swept her gaze over her fellow warriors, acknowledging with delight that the battle had just been won in their favour. She lifted her broken sword, ready to cry out in excitement.

Instead, her surroundings shuddered with amazing force, tripping Sif to the ground, and a hot, strong wind blew across her body, carrying with it the strange, unearthly shriek of Seiðr bursting asunder, which lasted only a moment. The whole event passed incredibly briefly, but its intensity was scalding and loud, and Sif did not know whether to cover her ears or attempt to shield her skin; so, she let out a scream, trying to do both, but failing.

When the occurrence was over, the next thing Sif knew was that she was being pulled to her feet by Hogun and Fandral, her limbs shaking. Volstagg had dropped his glaive and shield absent-mindedly, staring at something behind her, utter disbelief colouring his face.

"What – "

The question dissolved in her mouth and she followed the stunned gazes of her fellow warriors. She widened her dark eyes and gasped as she saw Heimdall's Observatory in ruin and flames, the midnight sea below it wildly lapping and frothing against what was left of the Bifröst. The magic of the bridge had stopped flowing through it and its colourful energy was slowly turning to black. And there, in the distance, she could make out two male figures, one standing, his back turned to them, and the other one kneeling, his brow kissing the destroyed bridge, in agony, or fatigue, or grief, Sif could not say. But she recognised the red cape, the golden hair, the hammer of thunder resting by his side, and she could not stop herself.

Not caring about her bleeding wound, the dark-haired Daughter of Asgard ran towards her general; towards her fellow warrior; towards her friend. The feisty Lady Sif with nigh endless stamina was breathless by the time she reached Thor. She remembered to bow before the king, but the All-Father did not see her; his eye seemed to be fixed on something only he knew to be there and Sif feared to look at either him or his son, but she knew she had to. Something beyond all their imaginations had occurred and she could bear no one else but Thor telling her the truth.

Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a dangerous and wounded beast, she lowered her knees to the blackening ground and put a careful hand on one shaking shoulder. Stupidly, it was only then that she realised that, for the first time in all the centuries she had known him, Thor was crying. Sif watched, almost in horror, the salty drops sliding down his strong jaw, and she looked away, thinking she should spare him the shame of being found weeping by a fellow warrior. She looked over his shoulder and then she saw it, the horned helmet, lying forgotten on the jagged edge of the broken bridge. By instinct, she looked down into the void, searching for some sort of sign with her eyes.

Sif began to understand and as she did so, her heart began to hammer in her chest and an invisible, icy hand gripped at her throat, encumbering her breathing and swallowing.

Finally, her eyes met Thor's and his watery gaze made her stomach clench. She could not bear to see him like this and despite all the resentment and the hatred she had bestowed upon his brother, she was not certain she could – or even wanted to – hear the truth. She gripped at Thor's shoulder hard and pressed her lips into a thin line, trying not to feel a thing, apart from the smarting of her wound, but all she could hear were her own last words to the Trickster, full of spite, accusation and despisal. They had once been friends; they had once danced; they had once even shared the mistake of a fleeting kiss – her first and only kiss – and regretted it instantly; but her pride and honour denounced their friendship when he became king and she re-affirmed her eternal loyalty to Thor. Their paths were destined to go their separate ways, for the Lie-smith's lies and tricks had gone too far. Sif's love of honesty and her great dislike of deceit could no longer bear it.

Yet now, she did not want to hear that he might have –

... that he –

She could not even _think_ it. Had she not vowed to hate him? Yet she had never wished Death upon him.

"Loki fell," Thor whispered, his voice a ghost of its former boisterous self, its rich velvet faded. "He... _fell_. He could have been saved, yet he chose to ..."

Thor shook his head in grief and Sif bowed her own, confusion accumulating in every fibre of her body. She did not know what she was feeling, or should feel, but there was a hard, cold lump between her ribs now and she wanted to be rid of the way it felt every time she took a breath.

"He is dead," Thor finished and buried his head into the large cradle of his hands.

It was finally said aloud. _He is dead_. Sif's heart thrummed. _He. Is. Dead_.

"I am sorry," Sif offered, her voice sounding lame to her ears.

She stared into the black void below them and wished that she could have seen Loki one last time, so she could slap him and tell him how she hated what he had become.

Sif wished she could have seen Loki one last time.

**xxx**

_He was born a j__ö__tunn. He was a cursed _jötunn_ all that time_.

Sif tried to taste the word; she said it aloud, in disbelief, and it was old copper in her mouth.

"This must not change your mind about him," Thor said, almost ordered, and she looked at him with spite in her eyes.

"Hardly anything could, Thor."

Spite – spite and anger – made the cold lump between her ribs feel less heavy and painful. It made breathing easier, so she held on to those dark feelings, her medicine in those dark times.

Thor looked at her with hurt; again there was his hurt and as always, she could not bear to see it. It reminded her too much of how that wretched lump felt; it made what had happened too real and she had not quite come to terms with it yet. Loki's fall, as everyone had started to call it, still seemed surreal to her mind and she actually expected him to appear at any moment, laughing in their faces, leering at them, teasing them and their naive stupidity.

Loki fell and stubbornly, Sif only remembered the bad things he had done and that was easy, for he did many bad and mischievous things during his lifetime. It was easier to remember the bad things.

"I told you this secret, and a secret it must stay, Sif, for you are my closest friend. You," Thor said and patted her shoulder, "are my sister, in spirit, if not by blood, and you deserve to know. I want you to know, so that I may share the weight and pain of the truth with another."

They were in one of the gardens where Thor had asked her to come and at these words, Sif turned around and began to walk down a path, fuming. She did not know what irked and shocked her more, for shock her it did; that Loki truly was a monster from the land of blue ice and eternal snow, or that Thor had just dubbed her as his _sister_. For centuries, she had followed him faithfully, in peace and in war. For years, she had harboured a strange infatuation for him, but she had never expected much. Even when she knew that, in truth, she herself loved him more as a sister than as a woman, it still stung to be denied even a chance of something more, for she had been led to believe that she should, in fact, expect 'something more' and the notion became a familiar constant.

Nothing was familiar or constant anymore.

It stung that many had been expecting it, yet he chose a mortal, fragile thing over her. His choice shamed her. Was she not a powerful warrior of Asgard, and that little Midgardian thing only a pretty woman? It stung that, all of her existence, there had been two, and now there was only one to call her anything at all.

_The Stunning Sif; the Feistiest of the Feistiest; Sif the Lady Warrior; Sister Wrath_. Sister _Wrath_. In jest or in all seriousness, Loki had called her all the names.

And all that time, Loki had been a Frost Giant. At the thought, she dug her nails deep into her palms, replacing one form of pain with another. Certain things which she thought odd before now started to make sense.

How there was always a chill that persisted on his skin even in the summer.

How he never stayed long by an open fire, claiming he was never cold. The cold never affected him, never turned his cheeks red, never made his breath shudder.

How skilled he was at magic, a trait common amongst _j__ö__tunns._

How little he resembled his brother and father.

"Sif!" Thor yelled after her and Sif obeyed, stopping and curling her fingers into even tighter fists.

"Do not expect me to love him for what he _truly_ was," she said.

Thor narrowed his gaze. "Do not disappoint me by hating him for it."

Was Thor scolding her? Oh, the impertinence! How dared he make her feel ashamed? Yet she understood that she must not be angry with Thor, for Loki, in Thor's eyes, had always been Thor's brother and Thor genuinely did not care about Loki's true parentage. He loved his fallen brother the way he always had and he sincerely mourned the Trickster's death.

"You must understand that it is a hard thing to accept," Sif replied, relenting, suddenly feeling complaisant. "We were raised to _hate_ jötunns, not _love_ them. I have _killed_ jötunns. Surely they can't be our friends!"

Thor sighed. "I know. But Loki's sins, right before he... died," he said, still having a hard time saying that Loki was dead, "had nothing to do with his true nature. Jötunn or Æsir, it does not matter. He would have done it all the same. And he _was_ my brother, my true brother. Can _you_ overlook all the good memories for the sake of his lineage?"

Sif crossed her arms over her chest and assumed a stern face. She was starting to feel something else besides hatred and the lump between her ribs was beginning to awaken.

"Thor, _please_," she said, half groaning out the words.

Yet Thor was adamant. "Loki was born of Laufey of Jötunheimr, but he was Odin's son, until the very end. Loki was of Asgard and he was my father's second son. His strife was with me, never with the All-Father or with any of you, and in his twisted way, he did try... in the end...to help, to please, or both."

Sif was gaping at him. She set her arms akimbo. "Alright. I can forgive him the accident of his birth, for your arguments are solid and I cannot deny them. But I cannot and never shall forgive him for betraying Asgard and for almost killing an entire race only to ensure his secret might never be divulged. I spare no love for the Frost Giants, but I could never kill with such cruelty and coldness. I only kill when I am provoked, which he was not. _He_ even tried to kill _you_, so he could remain king! How can you overlook _that_, Thor? And," Sif said, squaring her jaw, "he sent the Destroyer after us all. "

He would have killed _her_. Mere days after Thor's banishment, mere days after the banquet, and the dance, and the kiss... If she saw him now, she knew that she could easily return the favour. She would aim right for his cold, black heart.

Thor ground his teeth. "I do not overlook it, Sif, yet although I do not forget, I forgive. He did love me, but to him, that was simply not good enough. It hurts to know it, but I must accept it. And remember, he sent the Destroyer after me, not you. I am only sorry that he ever felt the need to do so."

Sif huffed. "Is that not enough, his attempt to murder his own brother? You were raised together, you played and fought together and once upon a time, which I can hardly remember now, you were one. Yet despite all that, he would have murdered you, and still you defend him?" She raised her hands in defeat. "We shall never agree on this matter and I do not wish to quarrel with you. I must go to the training grounds. Will you not come?"

"In a moment."

Suddenly, Thor stretched out his arm and caressed a lock of Sif's black hair. She stood in place, stunned by the gesture. She was breathing fast, clueless as to what to expect.

"Do you remember? I know that he cut it and then made it black. You kept it a secret, but I suspected and eventually, Loki confessed it to me. I remained silent, thinking that, if you did not wish to talk of it, I would not pressure you. But I know and your hair shall always remind me of him." Saying that, he chuckled without mirth and dropped the long tress. "Shall we go?"

In reply, Sif ran away, not heeding Thor's calls this time, and hid in a dark corner of another garden.

She embraced her torso with trembling arms and tried to take deep breaths.

The lump between her ribs expanded a little more.

**xxx**

Thor went to see Heimdall every day. He left with a hint of hope in his eyes and returned glum. Sif watched his little expeditions every day from the wide balcony of the great hall, from where one could see the gray-blue sea and the Observatory, which was now being repaired. The Bifröst was still dead and it would take more than the combined powers of the All-Father and the best wielders of Seiðr, either of Asgard or of Asgard's allies, to repair the damage.

Sif suspected the purpose of Thor's daily visits to Heimdall, but she was not certain. She wished she knew, for there were things she wanted to know herself.

"He goes to seek hope," a voice behind her said one day and startled, Sif turned around to find Frigga standing a few paces away.

"My queen," Sif spoke and bowed, thinking how it was possible that someone, even if that someone was a powerful goddess, should be able to sneak up behind her.

Frigga was as beautiful as ever, full of innate grace and regal elegance, but her ivory face contained a darker shade than usual and it had looked wan and weary ever since the day that Loki fell.

Frigga smiled gently, although the smile did not quite reach her eyes, and took hold of one of Sif's hands.

"I wonder, every day," Frigga said, with great calm that reminded Sif of resignation, "whether Heimdall's usual replies might change."

Sif's brow contracted into a frown. "My queen?"

Frigga looked at her. "Do you know why my son goes to see Heimdall every day?"

Sif blinked. She could not bring herself to say it, not in front of a grieving mother, so instead, she replied, "I believe it is to inquire about the mortal, Jane Foster, and her progress in finding a portal to us."

The All-Father had enough power in himself to travel the branches of the World Tree without the bridge. Thor could use the hammer to do the same, only that such travels could weaken him significantly. There were very few others, powerful sorcerers, skilled wielders of such strong Seiðr, some of it dark and tainted, that could do the same as Odin if they concentrated enough, but if one travelled the Yggdrasil in such clandestine ways, one should expect danger and death. The bridge had to be open for all Asgardians; all the branches of the tree had to be one united flow of energy; and the All-Father would even welcome the help of mortal Midgardians to revive the Bifröst's ancient magic.

Frigga returned her gaze to the almost-restored gilded Observatory. "That, too, my dear Sif. But Thor hopes that Loki might have found a hole between the branches of the Yggdrasil, a path to a cold star or a barren moon, where Loki could have fallen. If it is not hidden inside a vortex which Heimdall's eyes cannot penetrate and if Loki is on that star, or that moon, or on a world not yet discovered by us, he may be brought back to us. So Thor asks, every day, 'Have you seen him, Heimdall?' And every day, Heimdall's reply is the same. 'No.' "

Sif cared that Thor suffered. Sif cared that her queen and her second mother, Frigga, suffered, and she bit her lip, not knowing what to say. What could one say to a mother grieving after her dead son? For Sif knew, she knew with absolute certainty, that to Frigga, Loki had never been a traitor or a jötunn, only her son that she loved as much as she did the one to whom she gave birth. Sif could be angry with Thor for his blind loyalty to a brother who had betrayed him, but she could never resent Frigga. She could not resent a mother for loving her son and forgetting all the wrong-doing he had done. It was the way of mothers. It was the way of her own mother before she died in a great battle, for no matter what mischief of a tempestuous child Sif committed, her mother would always forgive her and kiss her brow.

"A mother can never resent or hate. A mother can only love," Sif's mother would say with a smile.

_A mother can only love_.

And suddenly, Sif understood; understood that the world was not as black and white as she would have wanted it to believe; as she _had_ seen it in her stubborn foolishness.

Standing by Frigga's side, seeing a mother's grief, made her realise how far from simple things truly were. Frigga's sorrow began to change Sif's mind and she did not appreciate the change. She could never excuse Loki's actions, never. Yet she found that, even though she tried to summon it, the hatred would not come this time and the lump between her ribs stirred with a nameless need.

"The All-Father does the same every day, you know," Frigga revealed, squeezing Sif's hand as if searching for comfort and Sif pressed the queen's fingers with her own, "only that he does not go to Heimdall. Instead, he sends out his ravens."

Frigga closed her eyes and sighed. "I wish they'd both stop. My heart cannot take it anymore. I only wish they'd both stop and let me mourn my son's death in peace. Can you imagine how hard it is to have your hopes raised every day, only so that a blasted bird may dash them with its croak of rejection? I cannot even stand the sight of Huginn and Munnin any longer, and to think that once, I enjoyed nothing more than to pet the warm feathery beasts. "

"I am so sorry, my queen," Sif whispered, unable to say more. The lump between her ribs was beginning to chafe against the bones and cause her pain. Its ice hurt. "You may always confide in me, to relieve yourself of any burden, my lady..."

A tear slid down Frigga's cheek and she smiled. "I know, my darling, and I thank you for it."

She kissed Sif's brow and patted her shoulder. "Thank you for listening, my child."

When Frigga left, Sif turned away from the Observatory, finding that she, too, could not stand the sight of Thor returning to the palace anymore.

Instead, she went to seek solace at the training grounds. She was fiercer that day than ever before and although she did not mean to, she broke Hogun's arm and made Fandral's head bleed.

Her warrior friends looked at her with resentment and her apologies were not enough.

"Which part of the phrase _mock battle_ do you fail to understand, Sif, hm?" Volstagg accused her. "We are not the enemies. What in Hela's name is wrong with you?"

Sif had nothing to say. Nothing that she could say would make things better.

"I am sorry," she repeated, "I am _sorry_."

She threw her glaive to the ground with a growl, the weapon bouncing off it, and walked away, cursing under her breath.

On that day, there was a moment when Sif hated herself.

**xxx**

A few weeks after Loki's fall, the mourning of Odin and Frigga had to be put aside at last, for tradition had always been a significant feature of Asgard and the annual feast in honour of the valkyries had to be held. The feast was the first celebration after the destruction of the rainbow bridge. Despite the recent unfortunate events, the feast was a glittering event, although slightly calmer in comparison to the previous times.

Asgardians could only see the valkyries once a year when they came from the hallowed halls of Valhalla to come and speak of their deeds and, on rare occasions, in search of new shield-maidens to join their ranks. All the other days, they fought in battles on Odin's behalf, acting as arbiters and proclaiming worthy winners, slaying enemies without mercy, their battle cries instilling fear into the bones of even the bravest of men. They circled the skies of the Nine Realms on their white winged horses and along the way, they collected the souls of the bravest slain warriors from all the branches of the Yggdrasil, escorting them to Valhalla to serve as Odin's ghostly army. In Valhalla, the valkyries took care of these einherjar, feeding them with the mead of the goat Heiðrún and the blood of the nightly-ressurrecting beast Sæhrímnir, preparing them for their role as Odin's ghostly warriors at the time of Ragnarök, the hour of which was only known to the norns.

The valkyries fought the beast every night and sometimes, the Æsir, invited to Valhalla by the All-Father, joined them in the never-ending battle for sport, which was also great practice for them, as the Nine Realms contained many a dangerous beast; hence came the establishment of the ritualistic tradition. Only once, half a century ago, Sif herself was finally invited to Valhalla to fight the beast alongside Thor and Loki. It was the greatest honour she had ever received. Now, as she was watching the valkyries in their golden armour thronging into the great hall of Asgard, with their golden swords resting in their hands and their golden helmets with white feathers perched atop their heads, she remembered the golden hall of Valhalla with its many pillars covered with runes, the hall's ceiling thatched with golden shields, and the golden Glasir, known as the most beautiful tree amongst gods and men.

Sif remembered fighting the giant beast well and she was doing a wonderful job on that white winged horse for a long while, her sword in one hand and her shield in the other. She wounded it deeply several times, its thick, dark red blood dripping off the blade like honey, but the beast fought back and it threw her off her horse with a sharp claw, tearing through her thick armour. It was then that, for the first time in all of her existence, Sif briefly contemplated death as she was falling towards the ground far down below her, with a nasty wound spreading from her left hip to her right shoulder. It was Loki who saved her then, intercepting her fall on his own winged beast. He greeted her with a jest instead of inquiring after the wound and she knew, then, that he was trying to divert her attention from the possibility of her meeting with Death.

"How even the mighty shield-maidens fall in Valhalla!" he teased and she would have slapped him had she not been half dead.

He landed the horse in a safe corner of the Hall of Death, pulling her off the animal, cradling her like a wounded baby deer. She hated the feeling of helplessness; the feeling of depending on someone, that someone being Loki himself; yet she clung to him, for she still had life pulsating inside her and she was not ready to give it up for the sake of her pride. Her blood was smearing his silver armour and the hunter green fabric of his sleeves. He pressed his pale fingers against the gash, sealing it loosely with magic the best he could, for he had not taught himself to become a healer, and she grabbed his fingers, keeping them on her stomach, afraid that if he let go, the invisible seams making her bleed less would disappear. He only chuckled in reply, always the cheeky bastard.

"Thor... we must not leave him..." she said weakly, thinking only of the safety of her general.

"He has company," Loki replied. "Besides, you should worry about the beast, from the outlook of things. Thor brought the hammer with him and the valkyries are in a particular mood tonight."

It was also the first and the last time she experienced the dizzying feel of teleportation, for Loki transferred them both straight to the healing rooms, where Sif was left to recover. She knew that the only other person he had teleported when necessary was his brother, and she felt once again that she belonged with the princes, in times of war and in times of peace. That day, it was Thor who had the honour of slaying the beast, but it was Loki who left Valhalla with a souvenir for Sif, gifting her with the very claw that had wounded her. It was as big as her and became the mantelpiece in her bedchamber, another memory of him to haunt her.

Why did she even have to think about the wretched man, and tonight of all nights? Yet she knew that there were things about him that she would never forget, for he had not only been a foe, but also a friend (and the only man to have kissed her, but she would _not_ think of that) and the helplessness of the situation frustrated her. Memories frustrated her. Was... was _she_ actually... _grieving_? Of course not, she was only remembering, for the very idea of her grieving after Loki was ridiculous and preposterous, yet in answer, the lump between her ribs stang and Sif had to repress a hiss of surprise.

She clenched her teeth in anger. She forced herself out of the thoughts revolving around the God of Mischief that was no more and never would be again, and began to mingle, searching for no other than Brynhildr herself, as she had done every year for the past half century. These annual meetings had become their tradition.

The leader of the valkyries found Sif first, greeting her according to warriors' code by placing her right fist on her left shoulder and bending herself in a quick half-bow. Sif did the same, closing her eyes in reverence and opening them again when she straightened herself up once more to look into the great valkyrie's sea-gray eyes.

Without a preamble, the beautiful and fierce Brynhildr asked, "Have you an answer for me, brave Sif? I look forward to it each year."

Sif blushed, fearing that one day, she _would_ insult the valkyrie with her repeated rejections.

"My lady Brynhildr, you honour me again with your invitation."

The valkyrie gave a faint smile. "And I do not intend to desist just yet, for you are one of the finest and bravest shield-maidens Asgard has seen and Valhalla would greet you with much enthusiasm and pride."

Sif stood as straight as a rod, her entire body rigid with tension. "Two months ago, I was ready. I would have said yes and joined you for ever, but now, if I have not worn your patience too thin, I would ask you to invite me again next year, Brynhildr."

The valkyrie nodded. "I will not say that I am not disappointed and saddened by your response. I _shall _wait another year, but Prince Thor is the greatest warrior Asgard has seen and he will survive without you, Lady Sif. Miss you he shall, but he will learn to understand."

Brynhildr knew everything about Sif. The valkyrie had asked many questions and Sif always responded faithfully, trusting the valkyrie by instinct. There was no reason not to trust a warrior of Odin.

Sif blinked several times. "You know my feelings, wise Brynhildr, and you might be proud of me when I tell you that I have quite conquered those sentiments of which a valkyrie must cleanse herself. In time, although with difficulty, I shall be able to leave Thor's side, for it is my one great wish to fight by _your_ side, to be one you. But these days, the queen herself relies on my company. I cannot leave her now, so soon after..."

Sif lowered her gaze, feeling ashamed for showing any signs of weakness in front of the great Brynhildr.

"Of course, the Trickster's death is still fresh on your minds," was the valkyrie's reply.

It should not be a surprise that the valkyries did not feel the death of the younger prince. Yet the bluntness of Brynhildr's speech made Sif snap up her head.

"Yes, it is," she confirmed fiercely and startled herself with the heat of her answer.

The valkyrie narrowed her gaze. "Do you mourn, too?"

Sif tried to remain calm. "I have noticed his absence, but I am sorrowful for the queen's sake, for it pains me to see her so melancholy."

Brynhildr chuckled, her long, braided fair hair moving along with her amusement. "You _notice_ his absence. Well! Do you remember your first fight in Valhalla? I remember it clearly and I remember how you looked at them both as you fought by their sides. You _looked_ at them both, even at the Lie-smith, so do not tell me you merely _notice_ his absence. Mourn his loss, cleanse yourself of this last remaining sentiment and be ready to come with me next year. It might be your last chance to join us. A valkyrie must not be burdened with residues of her past life that may come to haunt her in Valhalla. She cannot afford anything to make her look back and cloud her judgement."

"I know," Sif replied and Brynhildr continued.

"Seven centuries ago, your own mother became one of us. We still grieve her death, for Kára was a wild one, a warrior so fierce that all trembled in awe of her. There is much of your mother in you, but you are a warrior in your own right and you would not only serve as a replacement for Kára. You must know that and you must also know that, although your mother loved you and knew she could only see you once a year, it was her calling to become a valkyrie and she heeded it. She decided well. How will you decide after another year? Think well, Sif. You have heard the calling. You've been hearing it since the night you fought with us." Brynhildr raised her chin proudly. "Only forget the Trickster. Forget them both, but especially Prince Loki."

Brynhildr bid Sif farewell with a warrior's bow, not waiting for Sif's answer, and Sif stared after her, the valkyrie's words echoing in her head. Did Brynhild suggest, actually suggest, that Sif might have harboured _feelings_ for Loki?

At the trainings grounds, she still expected him to appear for practice. During meals in the great hall, she still looked at his now-empty chair like a fool. Whenever she ventured into one of the gardens, she still expected to see scrolls and books lying about where he'd left them.

_You fought with him. You were once saved by him. You shared meals with him. You talked to him many a time. You watched him work his magic with interest. You confided in him things you hid even from Thor. You danced with him. You _kissed_ him_.

"No," Sif whispered to herself, so that no one may hear her speaking to herself.

_Think of the bad things. He lied. He betrayed: his father, his mother, Asgard,_ you. _He abused his powers as king. He tried to destroy a whole realm to hide his secret, for her was born a __j__ö__tunn. He was born as your foe._ _He was made of secrets and you hate secrets._ _He tried to kill Thor. He tried to _kill_ Thor_. _And he _would _have killed you, too._

The lump between her ribs was calmed and Sif drank a goblet of wine to ensure it would remain dormant for a while longer.

_It is good that you are dead, Loki Laufeyson_, was her last thought before she started another goblet of wine on the route to oblivion, _for if you had survived, I would have avenged myself_ _and I would have done it with a smile on my lips_.

* * *

**A/N**: There is going to be another chapter after this one (two at the most). Originally intended as a long one-shot, the story got too long, so I thought it would be better to split it into parts. The story is a mixture of the comics, Norse mythology and, of course, the movie _Thor_. All 'new' names are taken from mythology (Huginn and Muninn, in translation 'Thought' and 'Memory', are known as Odin's ravens) and the Edda poems (in which Brynhildr and Kára feature as two of the valkyries, Brynhildr being the most famous one and appearing in several sources), and so are certain traditions (like the gods fighting the nightly-ressurecting beast with the valkyries). Seiðr means 'magic' in Old Norse.

While writing this story, I kept listening to _Og Lengra_ by Olafur Arnalds (a wonderful Icelandic artist) and _Our Last Fight_ by Scala and the Kolacny Brothers, which was an especially inspiring song.

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter and I do hope you let me know your thoughts in your reviews! Reviews are super nice.


	2. II

**A/N:** Dear readers, thank you so much for reading and reviewing Chapter I of this story. You are amazing, and I thank you for taking the time do read and review this fic. A number of you have favourited/put this story on story alert; thank you as well, this means a lot! **  
**

I am very, _very_ sorry for the long wait. December is always a bit of a crazy month, but the update is finally here and there is only one more chapter left till the end of the story. I added a few explanations at the end.

Enjoy! Sincerely, Lorien Urbani

* * *

**II.**

Sif spent the evening drowning her confusion in sweet wine and strong mead.

The valkyries had left, at sunset, to continue with their duties and as they were leaving, everyone was watching with reverence, knowing that yet another bloody battle with the nightly-resurrecting beast awaited the shield-maidens.

It was the first time Sif experienced the state of inebriation. Before, she would have laughed at her comrades for losing their heads to wine; now, the tables were turned. The Warriors Three teased her and she swatted at them as if they had been a threesome of cumbersome flies.

At least the recent resentments were forgotten. Hogun's broken arm and Fandral's bleeding head-wound had healed, and so had their bruised pride. Her chaotic behaviour of a few days ago was forgiven and forgotten, and the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif were friends once more, united in drinking now as they always were on the battlefield.

Once, Thor would have joined them. Once, Thor would have made a competition out of this drinking game. Now, he was watching them from across the table, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his face dark and stern. Sif caught his eyes with her own and swallowed down a gulp of wine in shame, the liquid becoming a rock that pained her flesh as it slid down her throat.

_How can you?_ the blue of his orbs seemed to accuse. _It has only been a month since we lost him_.

Sif knew – he would have expected it from the others, but not from her; not after he confided in her, revealed his very heart to her, an emotional extremity for a warrior of his strength and reputation. She knew he still mourned and would mourn for a while longer, if not even forever, yet she was making merry in front of him and he did not deserve it.

Sif set her goblet on the table with shaking hands, trying to be as graceful as she could. She placed her palms on either side of the goblet and pushed herself upward.

"Thor," she spoke, looking at him, her eyes dancing so strangely, "might you accompany me to my room? I hope to leave the banquet hall with my dignity intact."

She gave a feeble smile and then a sigh of relief as the warrior of thunder rose on his feet and walked around the table to join her.

"Are you done with mead?" he asked, smiling back, and she could not help but grin at him. He did not resent her for forgetting herself!

"For a while, at least."

She accepted his proffered arm and their elbows linked. With the other hand, she clutched at the soft fabric of her silver dress, lifting it up ever so slightly, so that she may not trip over the folds pooling on the ground around her feet. She could not wait to be rid of the dress; it was armour that felt like her second skin, not silk and gossamer.

For a while, they walked in silence. Sif could not guess Thor's reasons for remaining quiet, but she knew for herself that she was at a loss for what exactly to say. Ever since the day that the bridge was broken, a shadow had hung between them and it had a name.

_Loki_.

In Thor's presence, she was always aware of the Trickster, for she knew him to be in Thor's mind and heart even when he fought; when he ate; when he slept. Every conversation led to the past, the past led to memories and the memories always culminated in at least a mention of the fallen Asgardian's name.

_No, not of Asgard, but of Jötunheimr_. She could never forget, but she tried – to understand, to accept, to let go. For Thor's sake. And it had been hard to do.

Sif stole a glance at Thor. She observed the tension in his jaw, the uncharacteristic pallor in his cheeks, the weariness around his eyes. None of it was natural, yet it was now a part of him. He had been her closest friend, her beacon, her everything for centuries, and now he felt foreign to her. The notion made her extremely sad and she felt inclined to weep, but she did not. Sif never cried; no one could ever make her cry; not even Thor. Fighting the strange discomfort she had never felt in his presence before, cursing the shadow that kept them apart, she continued to walk by Thor's side, trying to ignore the silence and the tension between them.

She would ask no questions; she would not beg for a few words, even if her traitorous heart wished it. She was Sif, born a goddess and forged a warrior, fearless and strong, baptised in the tears of her enemies. She would never beg for anything, not even her life.

They reached the doors of her room and Thor broke the silence.

"I hope you sleep well, dear Sif."

Sif was disappointed in herself for feeling happy over the fact that, finally, he spoke to her and that he had called her _dear Sif_.

Dear Sif. Dear sister. Sif, Thor's sister in spirit, and Jane Foster, the mistress of his heart.

But the knowledge of it did not sting anymore. The only thing that stang was the fear of losing him to grief and she could repeat a thousand times that she was a stranger to fear, but the brutal truth was that Sif _had_ fears to harbour.

"Thank you, dear friend," she replied and kissed his cheek, a sister's kiss for her brother.

Once, she would have hoped for a different kind of kiss to give him who wielded Mjölnir; once, she was led to believe that he would be hers and she his, but nothing had happened the way it had been promised. Her first kiss had been claimed by a man far less worthy than Thor and her infatuation reserved for the warrior of thunder replaced by a sisterly love. She was not quite certain why she was disappointment by the fact. Perhaps because it made her ponder on the sort of affection she had held for the one that died, and Sif never wanted to feel anything for the other one.

How hateful it was that her wishes did not quite coincide with reality.

"I apologise for appearing so grim at the banquet," Thor said.

"I did not expect you to make merry," Sif replied. "I am only sorry I behaved so shamefully. It was disrespectful to you, Thor..."

He shook his head. "Do not say it. You have every right to drink and make merry, if such is your wish. After all, you do not feel the loss as I do, for I lost my only brother. I know you do not mourn and I do not expect you to, either. I certainly do not wish to force you. I would never want that. How could one ever want to subdue the fierce spirit of Sif?" He gave a quick smile.

There, the shadow again, thought Sif, and it managed to stir up guilt inside her.

"I did care for him," she spoke, shocked by her own honesty, "and, despite appearances, I was his..." _Friend_ did not quite seem the right word, for she had no idea what he truly was to her, or she to him, yet she used it. "Friend. But I only mourned for my mother, Thor, and I never mourned again."

Thor gave a short, breathy laugh. "You would not mourn _me_ then, Sif?"

Immediately, she punched his shoulder, quite hard. "_Fool_! I would mourn _you_, but I hope I shall never have to. You shall be king one day and you shall live long, as long as Odin, and I will be there to protect you, if you will have me by your side."

She expected him to laugh again, but Thor did not laugh this time. Instead, he squeezed her shoulder with one warm, strong hand and kissed her brow, ever so gently and with much emotion. He had never done so before and Sif stood still, completely stunned.

"Thank you, Sif. At least I still have you, and I always will. Thank you."

And Sif knew, in that moment, that although she was born with the blood of a valkyrie, her destiny lay with Thor.

He lost Loki and she could not allow herself to become lost to him, too. Not now. He was a formidable warrior and no one was better than him, yet such a thing _could_ fell him and Sif would have none of it.

She would mourn her final rejection of Brynhildr the following year, but she had always been meant to serve Thor, she realised now, and she always would, gladly, even if abandoning her dream of becoming a valkyrie like her mother might well break her heart. But she loved Thor more than any valkyrie and that held more weight with her. Brynhildr would be severely disappointed in her, but Sif could not help it. She was not strong enough to fight her other calling.

She wanted to serve her brother in spirit and in arms, her very true brother.

Sif had always been one of Thor's closest warriors, but now, she began to realise that she would have to expand her role; she would now have to step into Loki's shoes and become to Thor what Loki had been to the warrior of thunder.

As she bid goodnight to Thor, Sif felt tears in her eyes and angrily, she swallowed them back. For good measure, she let out a scream into her pillow and then, she felt better.

**xxx**

Thor had never been late to the training grounds.

Thor had never been _absent_ from the training grounds.

Today, he did not come at all to train the warriors and Sif worried.

He had never been a recluse, yet now it seemed he sought voluntary seclusion more and more often and he sequestered himself even from Sif.

Sometimes, Sif worried that Thor, the mighty Warrior of _Thunder_, was growing too _silent_. Sometimes, in the dead of night, she feared that he was fading, shedding the Thor she loved and disappearing into someone she did not know, or did not wish to know. The concern stole away her sleeping hours and with him, she slowly began to fade as well, not sleeping, not eating; not training as hard as she should have been; too preoccupied with the desire to save him.

Ignoring her fellow warriors, Sif left the training grounds. She sheathed her dagger, for she always carried a weapon on her person and, clutching at the leather-wrapped hilt, the familiarity of the object seemed to soothe her, if only a little. She searched Thor's favourite haunts. She started with his chambers, where his manservant informed her that he had not seen his lord since the early morn. Sif proceeded to the royal family's private dining hall, to the armoury, to the stables. Thor's horse, Gullfaxi, was there, munching on fresh oats in its gilded bucket. It lifted its head upon her arrival and whinnied in recognition. Sif petted its mane with a crease marring her brow.

"Where is your master, Gullfaxi?" she asked, then let out a deep sigh.

The last place left for her to search was The Twin Princes, but the two volcanoes were located far up North and Thor would not have gone there without his horse.

Sif sighed and patted Gullfaxi one last time before releasing the white thoroughbred's golden mane. It truly was a magnificent horse, tall and immensely strong, with a snow-white coat and a mane that was a mass of golden-looking locks. It was a horse truly worthy of an Æsir prince and their future king. As she released it, Gullfaxi snorted and another horse repeated the sound, then added a whiny to it.

Sif turned to look at Léttfeti, the newly masterless dark-coated horse that once belonged to Loki. Its place had always been in the stable next to Gullfaxi's and the animals had never spent a day apart. Once upon a different time, the same could be said for their owners. _A very long time ago_. Sif watched as Léttfeti stretched its sinewy neck over the fence separating the two stables and nudged Gullfaxi in the mouth. Léttfeti was restless; it had been for more than three months now, since its master's shameful – and tragic, she admitted – fall, and Sif felt sorry for the animal. She buried her fingers in its nearly black mane and the horse that once let her pet it freely now made to bite at her arm. Sif's warrior's reflexes saved her from Léttfeti's sharp teeth and she glowered at the animal with resentment.

"Beast," she hissed. "Just like your master," she added bitterly, twisting her mouth in a grimace of resentment.

She knew the animal had been described as difficult since the day the Bifröst was broken and she knew it was the only way that the horse knew to grieve, yet still she did not wish to comfort it, or forgive it, out of spite. She looked at a bucket of fresh red apples in a corner, then back at the horse.

"No more treats from me, you terrible beast," she said and was about to leave when she saw Gullfaxi nudge Léttfeti fiercely and the dark horse neighed, then hit the ground several times with its front right leg and lowered its head in submission. Still, it peristed to abuse the ground, as well as its hoof. Again, Gullfaxi pushed at its dark companion, neighing, and the restless horse stopped hitting the ground with its hoof. Finally, the dark animal was calmed and it snorted, then proceeded to eat from its own bucket of oats as if nothing had happened.

Sif stared at the scene with her mouth agape, then smiled in disbelief, not entirely certain what to make of what had just transpired before her eyes. It was clear, however, that the horses's minds were connected and the animals seemed to easily understand each other. The horses communicated, and the horses were friends. They were so close and it pained her to remember how close their masters had been before pride took over one of them and jealousy over the other one. It was what happened, she was ready to admit to it now.

No, she must not think of it, she must not, and she _would not_.

Left with no other alternative, Sif decided to visit Heimdall and consult his all-seeing eyes for Thor's whereabouts. She had to find Thor, make certain that he was safe and well. At the very least safe, for he had not been quite well and himself in a while.

She looked at the two horses one final time. Both animals had calmed down and took turns in leaning their heads against one another, their version of an embrace, or perhaps a pat on the shoulder.

How she missed that ancient scene, the scene of two men patting each other on the shoulders after a good hunt; of two men sharing a brotherly embrace after a dangerous battle. Yet everything had changed and Sif felt that she would be willing to give anything for the old days to return. For _everything_ to return to its place.

A strange feeling wrapped itself around Sif's heart and soon, she found herself running from the stables and towards the Observatory.

The harder she ran, the faster the cold throbbing of the ice lump between her ribs ebbed away.

**xxx**

"He is in the library, Lady Sif," Heimdall spoke calmly, his hands resting on the hilt of his magnificent sword, before Sif could find a chance to open her mouth.

As her ears accepted Heimdall's words, Sif frowned, then parted her lips in utter disbelief.

"He hardly knows where the library is, my dear Heimdall," she replied, regretting her words immediately, for although true they were, they sounded like an insult. Her cheeks coloured, but she found comfort in the fact that Heimdall understood what she really meant.

She knew Thor to be a clever man and he had read all the books that during his childhood, his masters demanded of him to peruse and learn. Later, he lost any interest in books, replacing it with his intense focus on the art of war, and she had never seen him visit the library to search for a tome to entertain himself with. He only sought the solace of the library when he was on a mission to tease his brother out of it and force him to go on a quest with him. That had always been a sight to behold, Loki sauntering out of the library with a scowl and Thor laughing at him, explaining to him with loud enthusiasm the fun they would surely have slaying Bilgesnipes or some other dangerous creature from other realms. Thor was a master of persuasion, as much as Loki had been a master of manipulation.

However, the library had always been Loki's place, his sanctuary.

And now, it was occupied by Thor.

Sif gnashed her teeth; in concern, not in anger. Thor was not only mourning; Thor was losing himself and becoming someone else. She knew Loki's spirit was not in Helheim or Fólkvangr, and most certainly not in Valhalla, for Heimdall did not see him in any of the places (although _she_ would have put him straight to Helheim), but in whichever lost void his spirit was stranded, he had a far-reaching grasp, for he successfully tormented Thor even from Beyond.

_Damn you, Loki, damn you to Hel and back_.

"He does now, Sif," Heimdall said.

"But why?" Sif demanded and she had to suppress a whimper.

"To read about Jötunheimr," Heimdall replied with his calm matter-of-factness. "He wishes to educate himself about the realm and the race inhabiting it. He has been through a few scrolls and books so far."

_To better understand Loki_, was Sif's first thought. _Thor wants to understand_.

Not too long ago, Thor would have destroyed the jötunns; he would have punished them with the force of thunder for the offence they committed on the day of his failed coronation. Now, he was trying to understand them, for the sake of the one who betrayed him and would have smitten him down in a heartbeat. Loki tried that and naturally – luckily – he failed, but Loki _tried_ and _that_ Sif could not forget.

Yet now, everything was different. Somehow, everything was different and this time, she did not think Thor was a fool.

_He is hurt and he only wants to understand. He wants to make certain that his brother loved him_; _that Loki _could_ love_.

This time, _Sif_ wanted to understand. Finally, Sif wanted to _understand_ what had happened to Loki, long before the fall. He was born of ice, but had the ice always been in him, even in Asgard?

Sif wanted to understand and she did not want to fight the urge; not anymore. She had grown too tired of fighting everything that was connected to Loki. This time, she simply wanted to know and then comprehend. She needed to grasp this, just as Thor did. If she did, then she could help Thor. And herself, but that was beside the point. It was Thor that mattered.

"Heimdall," she began tentatively and sat herself on the stairs of the observatory, determined not to rise to her feet until she had learned a little bit about the land of blue ice and devastation herself.

Heimdall's lips quirked in a barely discernible smile. "Yes," he said simply, waiting for Sif to say more.

"Tell me about Jötunheimr, Heimdall."

There, she said it, and it did not hurt. Relieved, Sif breathed in, then released a shuddering sigh.

"You have been there, Sif. What is there to tell that you have not seen with your eyes?" Heimdall replied with slow politeness, gazing into a far-away place that only he could see. No one's eyes travelled as far as Heimdall's, not even Odin's.

Sif refused to feel frustrated by Heimdall's lack of co-operation. "Yes, I have seen it, as it is now, as it has been since the loss of the Casket of Ancient Winters. What I would wish to know is, has it always been so bleak, so grey, so..." She bit her lip, searching for words. "So sad a sight? Cold and uninviting. And have _they_, the jötunns, always been such a... cruel race?"

_Was _he_ born cruel?_ She wanted to ask, but she knew she could not.

She could only hope that Heimdall would give her a clear answer. When she was younger, she would come to him, to listen to his tales about other worlds, and he always spoke only of the beauties that blossomed from Yggdrasil, never of the horrors.

Heimdall looked at her and she braced herself for questions. Instead, Heimdall focused his gaze into the distance again and spoke. Sif closed her eyes in amazing relief, happy that Heimdall remained Heimdall: observant, yet silent; wise, kind and obliging.

"Eons ago," Heimdall told her, "Jötunheimr was a place of cold beauty that shined like the deep blue of an Asgardian ocean. You see, Jötunheimr is the land of primordial ice and cold, and in those lands, in those mountains and on those plains, ice has always felt like home, and to those who dwell there, the beautiful ice has become warmth."

Sif frowned. "How can ice be warm?"

"It can, Sif, if it is the same temperature as one's skin, for the jötunns are born with ice in them. They are half ice and half flesh. And before Jötunheimr's fall from grace, the ice was magnificent, looking like crystals and glistening in the same inviting manner. It does not do that anymore, not without the Casket, and not with its people filled with bitterness and hate. Ice must be loved and nurtured, and it has been suffering from severe neglect."

Sif nodded, captivated by the tale. "They... they were not _born_ monsters?"

Heimdall moved his head and began to peruse another distance. He did not look at Sif, but she felt that he was completely aware of her presence.

"They were not. No race bears monsters, but it may raise itself into one. That happened to the jötunns. They were overtaken by greed and that greed cost them everything, but when their race first came into being, they were made to live in the ways of benevolence, and for many a millennia, they did."

Sif was shocked by Heimdall's words. She expected him to chastise the jötunns, to speak badly of them and to stress to her the importance of avoiding them, of fighting them. Instead, he presented them so... so very objectively, and Sif could barely follow the revelation. Never before has she even considered seeing the race of Jötunheimr as anything but evil and monstrous. She had known the jötunns as the destroyers, the haters, the enemies, and the enemy they still were. But ice – ice was not evil. It could be shaped and chiselled into evil, but it was not evil.

"Heimdall, I am going to ask you something and I ask you to reply, but nothing more. Would you promise me that you will not inquire further, or imagine things?"

In reply, Heimdall chuckled. She took that as a yes.

Sif took a deep breath and took the wild plunge. "Loki's betrayal is not connected to his true origins."

It was a statement, not a question, really, and Sif awaited Heimdall's fierce attempt to dispute it.

But Heimdall said, "No, although it would be simpler and less hurtful to say that it is."

The cold lump between Sif's ribs stirred and she swallowed hard.

"Please, tell me more about Jötunheimr, about its beauties that existed before Laufey squandered them."

She desperately wanted to ignore the lump and give her whole attention to Heimdall. She could not bear to think about Loki, not about Loki as the man he was before he fell, not about Loki at all.

And Heimdall did speak, telling her of the thick and dark pine forests, covered in snow and shrouded in gossamer mists; the forests that were no more. He told her of the royal palace made of black marble and blue ice, located on the glistening planes of Glæsisvellir;the palace that was now in sad shambles, a tomb and a macabre reminder of the distant bright past. He told her of the azure river Ifing that separated Asgard from Jötunheimr; the river that was destined to never freeze, but which was now immobile under thick layers of gray ice.

Sif felt that finally, she understood the tragedy of Jötunheimr, and the tragedy that had presided in Loki.

When Heimdall finished his narration, she thanked him and left, walking away from the Observatory with slow, heavy steps.

**xxx**

Almost two centuries ago, Loki presented Sif with a flower.

The flower was a white lily, which he conjured from the remains of torn grass, only to chase away the cloud of her bad humour and the pain of a broken heart.

On that day, she had seen Thor kiss a lady and Sif sought Loki's company instinctively, never asking herself why she felt that she needed him in that moment. Sif embarrassed herself, speaking of kisses and asking for one, immediately mortified.

Loki listened; Loki teased; and then, Loki made her smile, and in that moment, Sif believed that nothing would ever change, which she would not have minded.

Sif kept the flower and it stayed in her drawer when everything else had changed or stole away before she noticed it.

Now, in the middle of the night, unable to close her eyes and drift into sleep, Sif opened the drawer and took out the flower, ever so carefully, for the white petals were extremely fragile after two centuries and any careless movement might grind them into dust. For a long time, Sif had been asking herself why she kept the lily that was born of Loki's magic. There were times when she was angry with Loki and she was tempted to throw the flower away, but she had never been able to complete her intentions. And so, the flower survived through time, a delicate reminder of the day when Loki gave Sif a gift, without ulterior motives, quite selflessly.

Now, Sif understood why she had kept it.

She sniffed at the petals gently, but of course the sweet scent was long gone. Still, she liked to imagine that it was still there, wafting from the flower and tickling her nostrils. Now, it was dust that was tickling her nostrils.

Sif removed the flower from her nose and chuckled bitterly, the lily trembling between her fingers for a brief moment. And then, it happened – a petal fell to the floor and was pulverised immediately. Sif gasped in shock and reached for the white dust on the floor desperately, but by doing so, she accidentally crushed the lily against her chest and the crunching sound made her jerk to a horrified stop.

She straightened herself up very slowly, lowering her head so far that her chin touched her chest, and she looked at the lily, the flower destroyed against her skin. Sif gasped and opened her fingers, the remains of the magical flower falling to the ground, quite dead. So very dead. In that moment, Sif would be willing to swear that the sweet smell of the flower, the smell from two centuries ago, caressed her nostrils and then disappeared completely in less than a second.

Sif was gaping at the dust of the flower and the cold lump between her ribs began to melt. She could not hold it back, not any longer.

The lily he had given her was dead.

_He_ was really dead and she did not hate him.

And then, the brave Sif, the fiercest shield-maiden of Asgard, let out a heavy breath and began to cry.

She had only cried for her mother and Sif promised herself it would stay this way, for she had sworn never to cry for anyone else.

Yet now, Sif was crying hot, fat tears.

Now, Sif, too, was mourning her own loss at last.

**xxx**

In the morning, Sif did not fight at the training grounds.

She watched the Warriors Three in silence and judging from the sour expression on her face, they knew better than to ask her what was amiss. But if they had asked, she would have given them one answer: _everything_.

Thor was absent again, but this time, Sif did not worry. For the first time, she barely noticed that he was not there with them. She was preoccupied and she could not share her distress with anyone. It had blossomed from resignation and it had a name; Sif was not surprised that she had named it Loki.

She took her dagger out of its sheath and began to draw skewed circles in the sand, thinking about the night she spent in tears. She felt deeply ashamed now, but she could not erase her tears, not the way she made the circles disappear with the palm of her hand. It happened and she had to acknowledge it. Luckily, no one had to know, and no one ever would.

Suddenly, there was shouting, growing louder with each second, and the fighting stopped. Sif stood up swiftly, her dagger at the ready, and every warrior turned their heads in the direction of the shouting.

Soon enough, Sif recognised her name and Thor's voice, and she began to run in his direction, her heart beating in frantic rhythms. She was scared and she had to find Thor soon.

In a few moments, their bodies collided as Sif rounded a corner of the palace wall and Sif flew to the ground, the impact knocking the breath out of her lungs with a painful _umph_. Before she could recover, Thor hoisted her to her feet none too gently and shook her shoulders violently, and Sif had half a mind to shout at him. Then, she really looked at Thor and frowned.

Thor was grinning.

"Thor?" she asked weakly, but she shook herself and punched him in the shoulder, so hard that she yelped in pain. "Agh!" she exclaimed, cradling her injured hand in the other, and rebuked him. "You nearly killed me, you oaf! What is _wrong_ with you?"

In reply, Thor embraced her face with his large palms and planted a loud kiss on her forehead.

Now, Sif was terrified.

"You have lost your mind..." she concluded with a whisper. "Thor..."

Thor shook his head. "No! Sif. Oh, _Sif_. Heimdall has just seen him. _Heimdall has seen him_."

"Whatever are you _saying_?" Sif was growing impatient.

Thor looked at her in the eyes, deeply, and he spoke,

"Loki is alive."

The breath was knocked out of Sif's lungs for the second time in the matter of a few short moments.

* * *

_Explanations_: The names of the places and the horses are taken from mythology, as are the descriptions of those places. Some of the information was changed by me for artistic purposes. In mythology, giants lived in Jotunheimr and Nilfheim, and I joined both the realms into only one, namely Jotunheimr. Gullfaxi was a horse that was originally owned by a giant, but when Thor defeated the giant, he got the horse (and later passed it on to someone else). I chose this horse for Thor because its name means _golden mane_ and it seemed like the perfect horse for a future king. Lettfeti is another great mythological horse and as its name means _light-foot_, I thought it was a perfect horse for Loki. I didn't want to put Sleipnir in; in _Thor_, it's Odin's horse, anyway, and not crucial for this chapter.

The characterisation of the Frost Giants is mine alone, pure fiction, as is most of this chapter. If you have any questions, let me know.

_As always, you are cordially invited to review._


	3. III

_Hello! And here we are, after a long wait, the final, very long chapter, the conclusion to this three-part story. I am very sorry for the wait, but the length of this chapter is epic (as in, really, really long, so be warned) and hopefully, the contents will be to your satisfaction._

_A special shout out to my guest reviewers: I cannot thank you via a PM, but know that you have my thanks and your reviews are much appreciated. Thank you to the guest reviewer who suggested some very good Loki music to me. Let me tell you, Garmarna was being heavily played while I was writing this chapter._

_There are many mythology and comic-book references in this chapter. If you are curious about a particular element of the chapter, just let me know and I'll explain/answer your question(s) promptly._

_DISCLAIMER: I own this particular story, but the rest is beyond my reach entirely._

_Sincerely,_

_Lorien Urbani _

_(P.S. I love you, readers, I really do!)_

* * *

**III.**

_Loki is alive_.

The words reverberated through Sif's entire body every time she closed her eyes; every time she blinked; and she almost attempted to blink as little as possible, but it was a useless and ridiculous endeavour at best.

It was known now, across the plains of Asgard, that the fallen prince, the green-eyed Trickster, lived. The royal family rejoiced; their friends were happy for them; yet mostly, the Asgardians marvelled at the turn of events warily, trying to understand, frowning, wondering what this would mean. Would he return? Should they forgive and forget his act of grave betrayal? They waited for Odin's rule, yet before they could fully savour one surprise and the shock that accompanied it, they were served another portion.

One of their own, an Asgardian, a _prince_, no less, of their golden realm, was shaming them in Midgard; shaming the All-Father, and Frigga his queen, and Thor the Thunderer, as well as himself, extending the betrayal, sailing far away from any possible salvation, and now they knew they would never forgive, and never forget, not even if Odin himself so decreed.

It was said that when the Seiðr of the Bifröst exploded, then died, it drew to itself, in an attempt to restore itself at once, the ancient, unknown magic of Ginnungagap, the primordial, yawning Void that remained scattered across the universes, a remnant of the emptiness that existed before Odin's forefathers shaped it into the Worlds. The bridge was too weak to grasp at the wisps of Ginnungagap's magic, but it sucked it close enough that one of the mighty gaps swallowed Loki and deposited him in a foreign place, unknown even to the scholars of Asgard. Old magic saved the Trickster and that came as no surprise. Wielders of Seiðr attracted magic in the same way that honey did flies. Some even speculated that Loki might have summoned it himself, although such a thing was unlikely, for no one, not even Odin the All-father, had any influence over the workings of the Void.

There was talk of many things. There was talk of a brutal, shape-changing race by the name of Chitauri; there was talk of strategies; of ways to save Midgard and seize Loki; of defeating the Chitauri; and there was also talk of appropriate punishment. And all the while, Sif followed Thor, standing by his side, offering support, as was her duty and her desire, but she said very little, presenting no opinion or advice, even when asked for it.

Sif had grown strangely mute. No one knew her reasons, but she said enough to reassure them and assuage their worries and suspicions, for she could not afford to have Thor worry over her as well, not in such dire times when all his focus was and should be on Loki, the current greatest enemy of the peace of Yggdrasil.

The truth was, she was bottling every word, every emotion and every thought, keeping them to herself, wrapping them into sharp folds of rage. The more she kept them imprisoned, when all they wanted was to burst forth in a cloud of blind anger, the tighter she held on to them, feeding the beast of wrath inside her, preparing to strike at the time of her own choosing.

Sif was getting ready for her own revenge.

She had cried hot, true tears of heart-break for a man utterly unworthy of such grief. She gave herself a few moments to mourn Loki's death, to allow herself to feel friendship and love and loss, attempting to forgive his deception, the backstabbing he had afforded them all, the threat of murder, and all the other bad things he had committed against Thor, herself, Asgard.

When she first learned that he lived, she felt relief; of all the things Sif could feel, she felt relief. How wrong she had been; how utterly foolish and wrong. She still remembered Thor's grin of pure happiness upon learning that Loki lived and the heart-breaking frown when, only moments later, he learned of his lost brother's bad deeds on another realm. Sif would never forget Thor's eyes in that moment. The image seared itself into her brain and Loki would pay for it.

Loki decided to be a monster. This was not jealousy anymore, she knew. It was not even vengeance. It was pure malice, his true nature unfolding without a morsel of restraint or regret, and _that_ was what Sif could never tolerate, let alone try to understand.

She had _wept_ for a _monster_.

Thor had cried for Loki's sake, suffering every day, hoping against hope that his brother would be returned to him. They were not even true brothers, yet to Thor it mattered not. To Thor, Loki was still the one and only brother the Thunderer had ever had. Who else would have such faith in such a wretched man; who else would spare so much love for Loki? Was it fair, then, to Thor, was it fair to _anyone_, to Odin, to Frigga – to _Sif_, who spared _tears_ for the Trickster – that Loki should choose such a violent, despotic path of cold tyranny and heartless bloodshed, allying himself with the Chitauri, who only thrived on blood, pain and death?

Strangely enough, it was disappointment that led Sif to hatred. It was bitter disappointment, the knowledge that, after she opened her arms and embraced even Loki's true parentage, such a feat for her, he spat in her face, as he had done before. He spat in all their faces, knowing they could all see him now, watching his evil acts through Heimdall's golden eyes. There was a moment, two days ago, when he deliberately looked into the sky and sneered; he_ sneered_ at them, sending his clear message of contempt.

_Stop me if you can. I dare you_. And Sif knew they would, somehow they would, but before they could come, she was certain many innocent lives would be lost and they would all be Loki's fault.

How could he be such a... such a... _such a jötunn_!

No one had ever shamed the Realm Eternal to such an extent.

No one had ever shamed her this much.

It was a personal betrayal and Sif was thirsty for her own vendetta.

Loki would be brought back to Asgard and then, no matter the consequences, she would make him bleed, and she already knew how.

**xxx**

Without the magic of the bridge, the forces of Asgard could not be sent to Midgard to save the realm and bring Loki back to Asgard to make him face their law. It was decided, not without unease, yet still with determination, that their best and strongest warrior should be sent to the realm that its inhabitants called Earth. Only Thor stood a chance against Loki. He would aid the group of mortal warriors that had been chosen by humans to fight against the tyrant marring their equilibrium, but Thor's journey would not be an easy task to achieve.

Thor, like Odin his father, could travel across Yggdrasil without the magic of the bridge, by way of the mighty Mjölnir, but such travels always weakened the Thunderer; more importantly, they were dangerous, for it was easy for one to become lost, both in body as well as in spirit, so they were rarely conducted.

Odin's decision surprised all, yet they understood it, for what other way was there? Thor would have to arrive to Midgard and return to Asgard safely; Loki's powerful magic had to be bound; and now that they knew of the Tesseract, the one thing that could repair the bridge and restore balance between the Worlds, they needed aid, for Odin could not do it himself. Such strong energy, such dark magic, was always best to be divided between different users of Seiðr, or it could consume one whole. The All-Father was powerful beyond all, but he was also wise and he would never allow his power to be his only assurance.

And so, Odin sought the aid of the powerful sorceress Karnilla, the Queen of Nornheim. She was once an enemy of Asgard, but no more than two centuries ago, she finally bowed before Odin and swore her fealty to him, realising that it was better to be Asgard's friend than foe. She had behaved herself since, but Asgardians still did not trust her. Yet trust her they must, for she was the only wielder of Seiðr that was more powerful in magic than the Trickster. She could bind his magic and she could assist Odin in restoring the Bifröst once the Tesseract was in their hands. She was willing to risk the journey from Nornheim to Asgard, for it would greatly benefit her as well to pass between the worlds unhindered. It was crucial that Nornheim remained a realm without encumbrances, for it was the dwelling of the Norns, who watered the roots of Yggdrasil with the water from the Well of Urðr, so that the World Tree may prosper until the end of Time and its branches never rot. Worrying reports had come that the Norns could only give the Tree so much during these trying times without the Bifröst and every action had to be taken.

Sif asked Thor, "Why should the sorceress bind Loki's magic? I do not trust that woman, for she has wronged us before. I understand that All-Father needs her to repair the bridge, but can we trust her that she will bind the traitor's magic?"

She ignored Thor's look as she pronounced the word traitor. Even Thor could not deny the truth of it.

"I worry that Karnilla might assist Loki. And why should she not? They are of the same kind, Thor. _Sorcerers_."

Thor nodded. "I understand your doubt, Sif, but in All-Father we _may_ trust. He has never failed Asgard and if he says that Karnilla can be trusted at this time, then trusted she can be. There is also another reason why he has chosen _her_ to bind my brother's magic."

Sif did not comment on Thor's description of Loki, but she wondered that Thor could still see him as his brother. Her heart trembled for Thor, yet sadly, it was not in her power to take away Thor's pain.

"My father will act as befits a king once Loki is returned to Asgard, but Sif, he is still Loki's father. All-Father will have to pronounce punishment upon Loki, so he does not wish to be the one to take away my brother's Seiðr as well. It will already be painful enough to declare a fitting punishment, Sif," he said and finished his thought with a whisper, "and the punishment will be severe."

In her mind, Sif smiled with delight. Loki deserved any punishment that existed for what he had done and for what was still in his power to do. Yet she restrained herself, for any punishment would bring suffering to Thor and when her general, her brother in spirit, suffered, Sif suffered with him.

"Has it been decided?" she asked.

"It has," Thor spoke, not with ease. "I may tell you Sif, for I know you shall remain silent upon the matter and I admit, I cannot carry the burden of this knowledge alone."

Sif rested her hands on the beautiful silver vambrace covering his right arm and squeezed it. "Tell me, then. I will honour your trust. You can rely upon me in that, as you do in everything else."

Thor covered both her hands with the wide palm of his left, impressively proportioned hand, and his gratitude was written in his eyes, as clearly as the stars shone in the sky.

"The Æsir gathered in Glaðsheimr this morn to decide the matter. I had the honour, or perhaps the misfortune, to stand by my father's side during the council. The majority of the Æsir demanded Loki's death," Thor spoke, sighing over the word death, "which I expected of them, for it is the prescribed punishment for... traitors of the realm."

Sif nodded. Loki would live and she was glad of it, for death would be no punishment for him. It would be a favour and he would experience none of the pain he had been sowing with his hands. It was fit that he should live. He deserved to feel pain and she deserved her vengeance.

"Still, Loki is a prince of Asgard," Thor continued, caressing Sif's fingers, seeking comfort in them, "and my father decreed that he should live, but the punishment should be decided by the Æsir."

_So they do not know_, Sif though, remembering Loki's true parentage.

"Tell me," Sif coaxed Thor gently, looking into his eyes, but he did not return the look. His gaze remained fixed on their entwined fingers.

Thor cleared his throat and rushed through the words, determined not to dwell on what had pained him for too long.

"Karnilla has designed a pair of manacles that shall bind Loki's magic, as well as a muzzle to cover his mouth, lest he should resort to attempting to reach his magic with spoken spells. Upon Loki's delivery to Asgard, he shall be notified about his punishment and taken to Nornheim with Karnilla. There, he shall suffer his punishment in a subterranean cell she has designed specifically for this purpose. Nornheim was my idea. For the sake of father, and mother, and for my own sake. I could not... " Thor's breath hitched, but he remained composed. "I could not bear his screams, for if he remains here, I know I shall visit him, we all shall, and I do not wish to hear his screams, Sif. I _cannot_. I would wish to free him, for when it comes to Loki, I remain weak. Imagine what his state would do to my mother."

Sif was not delighted anymore. The sense of justice being appeased was gone from her. Her complete focus was on Thor and through him, she felt more than she wished to feel. She frowned and made to release Thor's arm, but he crushed her hands against his chest.

"Promise me, Sif, that you will not let me go see him once he is in Nornheim. _Promise me_," he demanded vehemently and Sif nodded, swallowing down hard.

"Why would Loki scream?" she asked, carefully, as not to alarm Thor further. Moreover, it was a justified question, for in all the centuries she had known him, she had never heard Loki scream. Like Thor, he had his battle cries, but in pain or from any other reason, he had never screamed and the idea was almost disconcerting.

_He deserves it_, she told herself, but one look at Thor and her resolve wanted to crumble.

Thor looked past her and Sif wondered what he was seeing.

"In his cell, he shall be bound to two pillars, reinforced by Karnilla to withhold him. And above him, there shall be a snake whose poison..." Thor faltered and Sif wanted to ask him to stop, for talking about Loki's punishment clearly pained him beyond reason, but Thor collected himself and continued stubbornly.

"The snake's poison shall drip upon his naked body, constantly, with only a few moments of peace between each venomous drop. The poison will not kill him, but it will torment him, for the snake's poison causes unthinkable pain. If luck shall be on Loki's side, then in time, slowly, yet very slowly, his mind shall fall victim to the pain and begin to unravel and then, he will not feel the pain so much anymore."

Sif was deeply surprised and chagrined with herself when she felt tears sliding down her cheeks and she bit her lip hard to stop them from coming, but they continued to crawl down her skin like treacherous wet spiders.

"Can you imagine Loki without his mind, Sif?" Thor asked her, gripping at her hands so hard that she was tempted to yowl in pain, but she remained silent, bearing her pain bravely for Thor.

She tried to imagine Loki screaming, Loki begging for mercy, Loki babbling utter and incoherent nonsense once his mind, his treacherous, lying, brilliant mind was gone, his greatest possession only dust and decay, and in her head, his screams were not her prize anymore. They should have been, but they would never be now. In her imagination, his screams became loud and real, too loud, too real, so painfully real and shrill, and she began to fight Thor to release her.

Instead, Thor crushed her entire form against him and embraced her, holding her so tight that she could barely breath, yet she returned the embrace, clutching at him as if for her dear life, and she bit his shoulder, not caring whether she hurt him or not, just to stop herself from screaming.

"I know," he whispered and she could hear the tears on his breath.

She bit down harder and she felt him twitch, but finally, she managed to swallow down her screams and take in a deep, shuddering breath.

"I shall never leave you, brother," she whispered back, fighting back fat tears. "I promise to remain by your side, now and ever."

The stars began to flicker in the sky when she said the words and they started to fade when, finally, the Thunderer and the shield-maiden let go of each other.

**xxx**

Karnilla arrived at the Asgardian court alone. She looked worn from making her journey without the Bifröst, but her beauty and natural magnificence did not suffer for it. Her long, coal black hair shone under the golden ceiling, hints of purple glistening in it, and her dark purple eyes seemed pleased. She bowed before Odin, kissing the ring on his finger.

No one greeted Odin this way. It was not the custom and Sif was not certain whether Karnilla was being truly respectful or truly mocking. But then, Karnilla of Nornheim was a sorceress and they were not to be trusted.

Instinctively, Sif sought the hilt of her dagger, flexing her fingers around it. If the sorceress made one wrong move, Sif would strike.

The formalities were dispensed with quickly. There was no time for a banquet or even a small informal meal of refreshing dinner, for there was no time to be lost. Karnilla understood that as much as everyone else, for she herself was the one to suggest, right after the greetings were conducted, that Thor be sent to Midgard without further delay. Odin gave a sign with his hand and the throne room emptied. Those who remained were Odin, Frigga, Thor, Karnilla, the Warriors Three and Sif, as had been agreed.

As soon as the group remained alone, Karnilla lifted her hands, palms turned upwards, and gently swung them, conjuring forth two objects: a pair of silver manacles and a silver muzzle. She snatched them from their hovering state and showed them to Odin. He nodded, thanking her, and Karnilla turned to Thor. Sif gripped at the hilt of her dagger tighter and Fandral afforded her a warning look. She narrowed her gaze at him in defiance and looked back at Thor and Karnilla, her hand never leaving the dagger.

"It is an honour to meet you, Thunderer," Karnilla spoke, her voice low and mellifluous. "But let us postpone pleasantries for a later, more peaceful time, for you shall return soon to us, shall you not, Thor Odinson?"

Thor's face was serious and taut, yet he managed a small smile. "My lady," he spoke simply and said no more.

"Here, take these," Karnilla said and offered him the manacles and the muzzle. Thor took them, put them in a black velvet pouch and secured them inside a secret pocket below his armour, made convenient for every warrior.

"Their powers will take effect once you put them on his wrists and mouth. Make sure that you do," she said and smiled sweetly; seductively.

Sif set her lips into a thin, white line and glared at the sorceress. The Warriors Three all looked at her, both warning and calming her with their eyes. Angrily, Sif let go of the dagger's hilt and crossed her arms across her chest defiantly, her spine as taut as the string of a bow.

"Only I can remove the manacles and the muzzle. I thought it wise," she added.

"You were wise to do so," Odin agreed. "Do you understand everything, Thor?"

"I understand," Thor said and looked at his father. "It is time."

"It is time," Odin spoke and they left the throne room for the Bifröst, from where Odin and Karnilla would send Thor to Midgard safely.

Once they reached the Bifröst, Sif's heart began to pound fiercely. She trusted Thor's strength and warrior skills, but suddenly, it dawned on her that he would be completely alone on Midgard. Yes, he would be helped by a group of Midgardian warriors, but they were mere mortals and although she respected the realm and its inhabitants, she knew they were no match for Loki. In the end, it would be Thor standing alone against his brother; more truly, an Asgardian fighting a malice from Jötunheimr without any true aid.

Sif stepped forward and spoke, "Is there truly no way for us to join the prince in the battle?"

Instead of Odin or Frigga, it was Karnilla who stepped in and answered her question.

"You are very brave, shield-maiden, I know, but the journey without the magic of the bridge would end you. Do you wish for that?"

Sif bit back the words that wanted to rush forward and bowed respectfully. "No, my lady, for dead I would be of no service to my prince."

"You are a fine warrior and a credit to your prince," Karnilla replied and turned her focus back to Thor.

Sif was not appeased by the words of the sorceress, but she was by Thor's eyes. He looked at her with confidence, conveying to her that he would be alright and that he would come back, in one piece and victorious. They had said to each other all that had to be said and Sif believed in him. She had no other choice but to believe that he would be safe and that she would see him again. She was frightened, but she must never show that.

She returned to the Warriors Three and together they watched as Thor began to spin the hammer with his hand. Mjölnir began to sing its familiar battle song, stirring the air around them into a wind, and as the magic of the hammer began to take place, Odin and Karnilla started to send their own magic and energy into the hammer of thunder, enhancing its power tenfold, taking from the power of the night and the stars. That magic and energy would seep into Thor and protect him during the perilous journey to Midgard. This way, he will reach Midgard unharmed and ready for battle.

The wind grew strong and blue sparks began to fly from the hammer, making Sif and the Warriors Three step even further away. There would be no lightning; all of the hammer's power would be used for the journey. The wind around them began to whistle loudly and the more Karnilla's and Odin's hands shone, the more the hammer sparked, growing louder and bluer by the second. Together with it, a blue gossamer veil enveloped Thor, sparks bouncing off it. Finally, there was a loud crack and Thor jumped off the Bifröst, straight as an arrow, holding on to the hammer as it drew him away from them. Swiftly he disappeared into the darkness of the Void below them like a loud shooting star and as soon as he was gone, the air calmed and quietened.

Thor was gone.

Sif exhaled the breath she had been holding the entire time.

She remained in the Observatory, keeping Heimdall company and listening to his descriptions of what was happening on Midgard, waiting for the day Thor would return, safe and sound, safe and sound, _safe and sound_, a chant she had adopted, believing it might help him from afar. She took her meals in the Observatory, and it was where she also rested. Sif waited, loyal and hopeful.

And then, finally, there came a day when Thor returned and with him returned the green-eyed traitor.

Loki.

**xxx**

All of Asgard felt Loki's return.

They had been expecting it and as soon as his presence was once more a part of the Realm Eternal, it was felt, a vibration that meant change.

He was injured and dishevelled, yet masterfully composed. He sauntered past them, a mass of torn leather and scratches, his face sharper and paler, his hair longer, but he looked on in defiance, his green eyes scintillating with mischief, no remorse or shame showing in them. His hands were manacled, his mouth covered with the muzzle, and he did not look much pleased about that, but even as Thor walked by his side, equally worn and showing signs of battle, Loki did not try to evade his brother's touch. He endured it and walked on, arrogant and stubborn despite his failure.

There were no cheers to greet Thor's triumphant return. There was only silence, every single Asgardian making their best to memorise every moment of the scene sprawling before them. For them, it would be a moment that would go down in history, recorded in the annals of Asgard.

Odin stood before the throne, every bit the king which Asgard had known for millennia, stern and unyielding, waiting for the traitor's arrival. The queen, however, was visibly a-tremble and she looked upon her second son, lost to her for so long, and let out a shuddering sound, touching the tips of her fingers to her lips. All could see that she wanted to rush forward, but she held herself in place.

Sif's heart leapt with joy and relief when she beheld Thor's form after days of terrible unease. He was hurt, but he had been through much worse times, at least in physical terms, so she did not worry over that, even when his gait was strained, possibly from a wound. But when she looked upon Loki's battered face, a current of dark energy shot through her and she shuddered, in shock and in anger.

Sif had not seen Loki in six full moons and it was almost surreal now, to see him, alive, after she had finally accepted his death that never was. There was a part of her that was glad to see him again, yet the feeling was short-lived, smothered by every evil thing he had done since his fall, from the bridge as well as from grace.

Sif stood with the Warriors Three on the right side of the stairs below the dais that supported the throne of gold. She measured her breaths, keeping them at a normal rhythm with painful deliberation, or else she might explode. She sought Thor's eyes, to send him a look of support, but he was looking at the king and queen. He had done his work and he was exhausted. It was his mind and heart that were tired, Sif could see, not his limbs. Sif felt sorry for Thor and then, there was Frigga, who was fighting the urge to fall apart and Sif's heart bled for her.

_Do you see what you have done, Laufeyson?_ Sif wanted to scream and it was horrible that she had to remain silent. _Do you see what you have done to your mother, to your brother, to all of us?_

Perhaps, Sif thought, she could have forgiven him if he had shown guilt and a will to expurgate his sins, but that was and always would be a fool's wish.

There was a fleeting moment when Loki dared meet his mother's sorrowful gaze and for an incredibly short second, his features softened and there was almost a hint of regret in them, but then the traitor looked upon the king, with scorn and defiance, and any regret that may have been in him was instantly forgotten.

Thor clamped a hand on Loki's shoulder and forced him on his knees, the bones of them hitting the first stair with a loud thud. Loki growled low in his throat, shaking his shoulders in disgust to force Thor's hand off them. Thor took a step to the left, hurt, and Sif's anger increased further.

Odin began to enumerate Loki's crimes, condemning them fiercely. All the while Loki listened, his eyes on his knees, but he was not distressed or in any way perturbed. He looked ready to meet any fate and every time Odin mentioned an offence against Asgard, Midgard and Jötunheimr, Loki smiled behind the muzzle, his eyes lighting up.

"Do you repent?" Odin asked, his voice bouncing off the walls in its majesty, and Loki looked up at him, challenge and insolence glowing on his face.

With determination, he shook his head. _No_, the gesture said.

"Then I am sorry you should feel this way," Odin spoke, "and although you are my son, you shall not evade severe punishment decreed by the council and confirmed by myself, All-Father."

Loki snorted and Sif knew why, even when most of the others did not. Odin was not truly Loki's parent, but it chagrined Sif, for the first time it truly chagrined her, that Loki could so easily dismiss all the centuries that Odin had been his father and Frigga his mother. He was not the fruit of Odin's loins and Frigga's womb, but he was their son in every other sense and he was Thor's brother. Was he truly so full of hate, so full of resentment and scorn, that he could remember none of that? His family loved him deeply and he repaid them thusly.

_How I hate you_, her mind whispered and in that moment, she truly did.

And then, when she least expected it, and in fact, she had not expected it at all, Loki turned his head to the left and looked at her.

Sif froze and her skin crackled.

His eyes were on her as his sentence was being pronounced, taunting her. Bravely, she stood her ground, showing her contempt and disgust. She held no love for him anymore, not now, although once, she did, much to her deepest shame. She held his impertinent gaze, determined that he should be the one to break it, not her. Then, as Odin spoke of the snake for the first time, Loki's head snapped towards the king and behind the anger, there was now also despair and again, Sif understood.

_You cannot take away my mind_, he seemed to wish to say, but the muzzle prevented him.

There was now fear in Loki, and agony. He was not afraid of the pain; he was afraid of what the pain would do to him in time.

"... and you shall be kept there," Odin was finishing, "until we determine that you have repented for your crimes and shall not be a threat to the realms any longer."

Sif admired Odin for remaining so calm and she marvelled at Loki for assuming a mask of rebellious arrogance once more. A few moments ago, he was frightened of his fate, but now she saw that he would rather die than beg for mercy, and showing repentance equalled begging in Loki's eyes. Sif had heard that pride could kill, and now, she had proof before her very eyes. It was a tragic thought and an even more tragic fate, but she had promised herself not to feel sorry for Loki; not ever again.

"Take the prisoner to his cell," All-Father ordered. "After we have repaired the Bifröst, which shall be soon now, we shall proceed."

It was then that Frigga ran down the stairs and embraced Loki. He tried to shake her off, but she would not let him and she whispered something in his ear, making him close his eyes.

The display was a dagger through Sif's heart and she wished she could be by Frigga's side to support the poor, broken mother. Sif watched, her throat tight, as Frigga caressed Loki's hair and kissed him on both cheeks. She watched Loki shake his head and look away from her, determined not to co-operate, but Frigga managed to chip his cold surface and Sif was glad of it.

Then, Frigga raised herself, shaken and teary-eyed, and nodded to Thor. Thor forced Loki to his knees.

Sif decided to leave them alone for a few days.

Then, she would follow and visit the traitor in his cell, for she had a bone to pick with Loki.

She did not require revenge anymore, for Loki would be punished enough, but she still felt an overwhelming urge to do something and she was determined to appease it.

For now, she ran to Frigga's side and offered her comfort, which the queen gladly took

**xxx**

When the magic of the Bifröst was resurrected, it felt as if the very roots below Asgard had taken a deep breath of air and expanded, relaxing at long last. A windy sigh arched over the Realm Eternal, signalling the return of the bridge's ancient Seiðr, and Asgardians applauded its long-expected restoration.

There were cheers in the streets, in the squares and in the palace, and as Odin passed through them on Sleipnir, Karnilla riding behind them on a white mare, the people bowed before them with deep respect and gratitude. Yggdrasil was saved and peace restored to the realms. As for the Tesseract, it was taken to the Weapons Vault, where it would be safely secured from all who would seek its power and try to claim it.

Asgard was aware of the threat of the Chitauri, who coveted the Tesseract greatly, but now that the mighty weapon was in Asgardian hands, they did not fear the enemy, for they were more than ready for that cruel race, should they even dare to strike at them. For now, the Chitauri remained unmoving, but Asgard was a realm that bred warriors and it remained prepared for a possible attack.

Odin decreed that the Warriors Three, the Lady Sif and five more warriors should accompany the prisoner to Nornheim and remain there as his guards until the threat of the Chitauri was satisfactorily diminished. It was discovered that Loki had been threatened and as he was of Asgard, no one but All-Father could punish him.

Sif chafed against the king's decision, but she was forced to accept it. Yet she most certainly was not looking forward to seeing Loki every day; to hearing his unearthly screams, for she had already imagined them in her mind, unable to erase them from it. But Sif was a brave warrior, a descendant of great warriors, and war ran through her veins. She would rather perish in disgrace than shirk any task given her in the name of the Realm Eternal. She swallowed her pride, she swallowed her anguish and only one thing remained for her to do before she left Asgard for Nornheim indefinitely.

She went to the dungeons and found Loki's cell. Thor was leaning against its door, clearly worn from yet another failed attempt at conversing with Loki, trying to reason with his fallen brother. Thor had been visiting Loki every day since his return in disgrace, but although the muzzle was removed, as well as the manacles, for Karnilla enchanted the whole of the cell, Loki remained stubbornly quiet and unresponsive, tormenting Thor with his aloof silence.

Sif did not require the traitor to speak. Her intentions required something else.

"Thor," she greeted the Thunderer gently and he smiled at her wanly.

"Sif, what has brought _you_ here?" he asked, his voice flat. It irked Sif how strong an effect Loki held over Thor.

"I would speak with Loki and I request your permission for it."

Thor looked at her in utter disbelief. "_You_ wish to speak with my brother? But _why_?"

"There is something I have wished to do, that is, to say, since the day he returned. My conscience demands it of me, as well as my honour. Will you grant my request, Thor?"

Thor looked at her warily and she laughed. "I left my weapons with the main guard of the dungeons," she said. "I have not come to kill Laufeyson."

"I know that," Thor replied, ignoring her jibe, "I never thought you could."

Sif smiled, thinking how at first, before she learned of Loki's punishment, that was precisely what she wished to do, even if it would have meant certain death for her.

"What is your answer, Thor?" she prodded him and he sighed.

"You may try, Sif, but he will not give you any answers."

"I do not need his answers, Thor."

"Very well, but I must be present during your visit."

Sif nodded and Thor unlocked the door with Karnilla's enchanted key.

Sif entered the cell before him and Loki looked up, surprised that the visitor was her and amused by it. The cell was simple, the walls thick stone, a wooden shelf protruding from one wall serving for a bed. There was a small table in a corner, and on it rested a pewter mug of water and a piece of untouched bread. Loki was being treated like any other prisoner, for the laws of Asgard did not exempt the princes. Sif was pleased to see him like this, stripped of his power and dignity. He deserved such treatment.

Loki was sitting on the prison bed, leaning against the wall behind him. When Sif came to the cell, he leaned forward slowly, assessing her with interest. Sif did not give him the opportunity to continue his perusal of her. She acted quickly, for she had always cherished the element of surprise in battle.

She looked him in the eyes, smiled and punched him in the face, her hard fist crushing the bones of his nose with a loud crack. He did not release even the tiniest of sounds, but the momentum of her blow propelled him backwards, his back back hitting the wall behind him, blood gushing through the nostrils.

"_Sif_!" Thor shouted and stepped between her and Loki, regarding her with ire, while Loki stared back at her in astonishment, rubbing together the fingers of his bloodied hand, covered in the blood seeping from his trickling nose. Sif was proud. It had been a strong blow worthy of her warrior's prowess.

"I am much looking forward to our time together in Nornheim," Sif spoke tauntingly, discounting Thor's attempt to remove her from the prison cell. "Oh, you shall sing there, Loki Laufeyson, and I shall enjoy every single note."

"That is _enough_," Thor commanded and pushed Sif out of the cell, locking the door behind them.

As he did so, Sif could hear Loki begin to laugh in the cell, a sound of pure amusement and appreciation, and she kicked at the door furiously. His laugher, however, did not spoil her pleasure.

"I did not give you permission to assault my brother," Thor chastised her severely. "And how could you say those words to him, Sif, _you_?"

"I wish I could say that I am sorry for it, Thor, but the truth is, I feel much better now. I did it for myself, as much as for you, for Frigga and for All-Father."

Thor shook his head, but Sif did not allow herself to be pierced by his disappointment. She had made a promise to herself and she kept it. She would feel the satisfaction as long as her hand would throb in pain. She suspected that the force of the blow may have broken a finger or two, but it had been worth it.

She would never forget how she once wiped the smirk off the face of Loki Laufeyson.

**xxx**

They had spent two full moons in Nornkeep, Karnilla's opulent home in Nornheim. Far below the fastness, there was a large, round cell, and there the traitor of Asgard had been kept for as long. He was guarded at all times and his guards changed every day. Every tenth day, the duty – the burden – fell on Sif's shoulders, while the other warriors assumed other guarding positions inside and around Nornkeep.

Two full moons had passed and only yesterday did Loki Laufeyson begin to scream for the first time. The cries sounded exactly as Sif had imagined them, if not worse. In all honesty, Sif was fascinated by the fact he had lasted this long. She must have underestimated his endurance for pain.

The screams began during her duty. The first time he made a sound, he let out a growl from deep inside his throat, but still he persisted, stubbornly, in not letting it develop into something louder and fuller. The second time he made a sound, he was trying to suppress an angry, desperate whimper. The third time he made a sound, he hollered in bone-deep pain and since, he had been giving into loud, blood-curdling screams every few minutes. Sif held her ground for the longest time, not even blinking, but then he said one single word, a name, so soft and broken on his lips, and she flinched. It was barely a whisper, yet in the echoing underground, Sif caught it. She heard it clearly.

_Frigga_.

Sif had vowed to hate Loki Laufeyson and to never look at him until the day he was released from his punishment. She stood in the corridor leading to his cell, by the door shutting him from the world, erect and cold. It was easy to do when he was still silent, refusing to give into the temptation of using his vocal chords even when the snake hissed loudly and Sif could hear the churning of flesh as the venom tore it apart, melting the skin off at an agonising pace.

But then, of all the words he could utter, of all the curses he could scream, he whispered the name of the woman who had been and was his mother, and Sif leaned against the wall, thinking about Frigga's last moments with her son before he was taken from her. In her mind, she saw Frigga's tears, the knowledge in her eyes of what was going to happen to Loki once she released him from her tight embrace. Frigga had been Sif's own second mother and the notion of Frigga's suffering was Sif's undoing.

_Curse you, Loki Laufeyson. Why?_

She had blamed Thor countless times for still allowing Loki to affect him, yet she was the same. Her feelings shamed her and disappointed her.

For the first time since her coming to Nornkeep, Sif opened the door of Loki's Nornish prison, already reconciled with the fact that she was most certainly half mad. For the truth was, she could loathe the man's _actions,_ but she did not hate _him._ He was Frigga's son, although not by blood, and parts of her were rooted inside him. She had seen them. She cursed him again for it.

The sight of him rattled her. His arms were chained to the two pillars on either side of him and but for a loin cloth, he was completely naked. He might as well have been dressed, for his nudity was hidden under layers of blood, some of it old and dried, some of it startlingly fresh. His back and face were marred with lines and deep gushes that the snake's venom had carved into his skin and if he ever left this place, if he ever healed again, the scars would remain on him forever. Blood and puss were weeping from the wounds. Sif had been in many wars and battles, but none had produced such results as the snake had created merely by opening its jaws and spitting its green venom on the victim below it.

Tentatively, Sif approached Loki, her breaths shallow, her legs shaking. The snake, hanging from one pillar, its long body coiled around it, hissed at her, but Sif was not frightened of the snake. She hissed back at the horrible animal, baring her teeth at it. Then she crouched before Loki, ever so carefully, as if trying to approach a fearful animal caught in a trap. Loki's head wobbled and he forced himself to lift it, looking into Sif's eyes. He grunted and let his head fall, the chin hitting his dirty chest.

"Come...to gloat...have you?" he rasped, emitting a throaty laugh.

"No," Sif responded simply. "I am here for your mother."

Loki laughed weakly. "I...despise..._pity_." He spat the last word at her, but Sif remained calm. "_Leave._"

Sif tilted her head. "You might want to be kinder to me, Laufeyson," she said, positioned her pewter mug above his head and caught the next drop of venom with it.

"Does it not feel good to be allowed some reprieve from this torment, hm?" she asked and he looked at her so angrily that there was murder in his eyes.

"Leave..._bitch_," he choked out and Sif deposited the pewter mug on the ground, stood up and crossed her arms over her chest.

"No. I was not a bitch for helping you, but I am going to be a bitch for letting you scream again."

She looked at him with a smile and he glared back, baring his teeth like a wolf ready to charge. He was preparing himself to offer a retort, but the snake cut his attempt short. A drop of venom slid from its cleft tongue and landed on his wreaked right shoulder, sending him into ejecting a low holler from deep within his throat. His entire body shook with it and when the pain subsided a fraction, he tried to catch his breath, wheezing.

Sif flinched wildly, but he could not see her action and she was glad of it. When he calmed a little, preparing for the next bout of agony, she resumed her crouching position and held the mug above his head, making sure it was positioned below the snake's jaws.

"Don't," he said, grinding his teeth in discomfort.

"I have no pity for you, but I love Frigga and I shall be doing this for her every time I am your appointed guard. I don't care what you do on the other nine days, mark my words."

The chains rattled against the pillars as he tried to move, but regardless of what he did, he could not change his position.

Sif regarded him intently. "Pride is not honour," she spoke. "Pride is petty and futile."

He had energy enough to snort at her words. "I...shall not...give you...what you want." He let out a breathy laugh. "Regret. Repentance. What..._honour_...is in them?"

Sif sighed as if in resignation. "Then I shall never go home again, and neither shall you."

He looked into her eyes, his gaze surprisingly clear and green. "It is...not a loss for me. I don't... have a home."

"You do," she said through gritted teeth. "You have a home, you have a great father, you have a brother who would willingly die for your sake and you have a mother who cries herself to sleep over your unfortunate fate. Does _she_ mean nothing to you? Not even her, Loki? _Not even her?_"

He huffed. "I am... jötunn. Forget... not."

"The jötunn hate, which means they can also love. _You_ can love and you love _her_. Even Thor you love and _that_ is what you truly hate. By Hela, you are a monster, but you are an Asgardian monster. _Forget not_."

Loki remained silent and that gave Sif hope. For a long time, the clangs of venomous drops landing into the mug were the only sound filling the round prison cell. Loki's breathing evened and he began to sit up straighter, but he had closed his eyes and for a moment, Sif thought he had fallen asleep, but as if reading her mind, he opened his eyes and his gaze landed on her.

"You have always been stubborn," he said, his voice weak, but he did not need to take shorts breaths in between words now. "I have always deemed stubbornness to be no better than stupidity."

"It appears, then, that we are more alike than one would think."

Those were the last words either of them spoke for the rest of the night.

In the morning, when she had to leave Loki and surrender him to the clutches of venomous pain for the next nine days, Sif made a new promise and this one, she would keep.

One day, she would bring Loki back home to Asgard.

One day, she would return him to his mother and on that day, Frigga would smile.

Weary, Sif went to her room and slept.

In nine days, she would begin again.

**Fin**


End file.
